


Those Who Wait

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [9]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Sadism, Violent Fantasies, Voyeurism, Whipping, everyone wants to fuck nacho, gus is scary af, gustavo is a sociopath, nacho is a sociopath, pussy power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Gustavo could have turned the tape off then. He had the confirmation of Varga’s account. He had learned something very interesting and potentially useful about his enemy—Varga meant more to Lalo than a convenient receptacle for his sexual urges. He also had observed his spy in action—Varga’s skill at deceit was even greater than he’d thought, which offered both dangers and opportunities. It was doubtful he would glean anything else.But Gustavo didn’t stop watching. It was not in his nature to look away.Gustavo gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Gustavo Fring/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 22
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a part of the Only You series. It takes place mostly between "Fire Bug" and "Keep It in the Family," with the exception of the last scene, which takes place the day after Nacho and Lalo leave for Mexico. (So, after Chapter 3 of "Reign in Hell".)
> 
> If you're coming into this series later...sorry this timeline is a little confusing! This probably should have been a chapter in "Reign in Hell", but I didn't get the idea until I was already halfway through.

Gustavo observed, and waited.

So much could be accomplished with these two simple skills, but most people lacked the discipline to master them. Instead, they scurried around like chickens, ceaselessly squawking, blind to the world around them.

Others learned one skill, but not the other. Varga, for example. Cunning shined through his wide eyes, and his silence suggested someone who listened well. But he lacked patience, which was why he belonged to Gustavo now.

And what an expensive possession he was. A million dollars lost, all to ensure no one suspected that Varga had another master. Gustavo hoped he was worth the investment, but sometimes, he had his doubts. Like now.

They were at one of their usual places—in front of the power plant transformer station. The cold night wind whipped across Gustavo’s skin as he observed the man before him. “And you say that he has no more plans?” he asked.

Varga shook his head. “Nothing concrete. He’s focused on stabilizing business before he goes after you.”

Gustavo circled him slowly. Varga stood perfectly still with his hands clasped in front of him, his head slightly bowed—submissive, but not cowering. Nothing about his posture suggested dishonesty, but Varga was a gifted liar. “And your sexual relationship? Is that ongoing?”

Varga swallowed. “Yeah.”

It still seemed incredible to him—a Salamanca fucking one of his men. It was almost too bizarre to be a lie—but sometimes the best lies were outlandish ones. His lips thinned. “How do I know that this is true?”

Varga looked up, his brow creased. “Why would I make it up?”

“Men lie for many reasons.”

“You have a gun to my father’s head,” he said, his voice sharp and less than submissive. He seemed to catch himself and lowered his head again. “I wouldn’t put him in danger by lying to you,” he continued more evenly.

Gustavo looked to Tyrus. Tyrus also had a gift for observation, but he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders in response to Gustavo’s silent question. He couldn’t tell if he was lying, either. 

Gustavo folded his hands behind his back. “I want proof.”

Varga’s head shot up again. “Proof? Like what, a tape?”

“That would be acceptable.”

Humiliation twisted Varga’s expression as his fists clenched. For a moment, Gustavo thought he might refuse. But then he swallowed and unclenched his hands. “I need some time.”

“You have a week. Tyrus will call you to set up a meeting.”

Varga’s eyes burned with hatred. “Can I go now?”

He met his gaze coolly and inclined his head. “You are dismissed.”

Gustavo and Tyrus watched him drive away. “You really think he’s lying?” Tyrus asked.

He lifted his shoulders. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

***  
A week later, Varga met them as instructed in a vacant lot far outside town. He had arrived early and was waiting for them with his arms crossed as he leaned against his car.

Tyrus approached him. “You have it?”

Varga handed him a tape. He looked Gustavo directly in the eye. “Enjoy,” he said bitterly. He didn’t wait to be dismissed before getting into his car.

Tyrus shot him a questioning glance—should he stop him? Gustavo shook his head. He’d forgive the disrespect this once.

Once he was gone, Tyrus held out the tape, but Gustavo hesitated to accept it. His reluctance surprised him.

“I can watch it for you,” Tyrus suggested.

But Gustavo shook his head and took the tape. “That won’t be necessary.” No, best to see for himself. In addition to confirming Varga’s story, there could be valuable information about his enemy. Tyrus had a good eye, but the only perspective Gustavo truly trusted was his own.

***

Gustavo dressed for bed and brushed his teeth before he put in the video. The first image was Varga’s bed, from the vantage point of somewhere above the headboard, looking down. Gustavo would have a full, unobstructed view of the proceedings. A blink and the view shifted—the lighting was different, several hours later. Varga’s pinched expression briefly came into view as he made another adjustment, and then he disappeared again.

Minutes passed. Gustavo pressed fast-forward until Nacho came back into view, with Lalo in tow. They were wrapped in a heated embrace. Nacho broke away to shove Lalo on the bed.

Lalo chuckled as Nacho straddled him. “So impatient tonight, Nachito!”

 _Nachito_? The affection in Lalo’s voice surprised him.

“Can’t help it.” Varga got up on his knees as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Not with the way you were looking at me.”

“And how was that?”

Varga shrugged out of his shirt and threw it to the floor. “Like you wanted to eat me alive.” He peeled off his undershirt and sent that to the floor as well, leaving his broad, muscular chest bare but for the thick, gold chain that hung around his neck. The quality of the tape was mediocre, but Gustavo could make out the faint scar on his shoulder from the bullet Tyrus had put in him. He’d have one in his flank as well. Would he be able to see it?

Lalo pushed himself up and reached for Varga’s fly. “You did look especially tasty today.” There was that tenderness again.

Varga ran a hand through Lalo’s thick hair. “How many times have you sucked my dick?”

“I was supposed to be keeping count?” Lalo asked, laughing.

“I thought you had a head for numbers.”

Lalo swatted his ass. “Brat.” Said affectionately—the teasing of a lover. He finished undoing his fly and reached in, taking Varga’s cock in his hand.

Varga threw his head back, exposing the vulnerable arch of his neck, and moaned.

Lalo smirked as he gave him a few strokes. “You want my mouth, _chico amante?_ ”

“ _Si_ ,” Varga moaned. “ _Por favor._ ”

“Then let’s get you out of these jeans, yeah?”

This wasn’t going at all like Gustavo had expected. He had thought it would be rough—a Salamanca taking what he wanted, as Salamancas always did, with little care what havoc they wrought. He imagined Varga slammed up against the wall, or pushed onto the bed as Lalo stripped him, taking his pleasure as Varga grit his teeth and bore it.

But this tenderness was unfathomable. If he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes, he’d never believe it.

Varga was naked now, spread out on the bed. Lalo settled between his legs, running his hands over his thighs. “ _Ignacio_ ,” he breathed. “ _Muy hermoso, muy fuerte..._ ” He nipped his thigh and grinned up at him. “ _Muy caliente._ ”

Varga laughed. It was like hearing a dog meow—unexpected and a little unsettling. “ _Lalo, por favor_ …”

Lalo took Varga’s cock in his mouth, descending on him with obvious relish.

Varga sighed. “Feels so good, like that first time when you had me naked in your kitchen.”

Lalo moaned as he continued to work Varga’s cock, bobbing his head up and down.

“And then that time in your car, and at the restaurant in the same chair where I count the take, all over your house and mine… Do you remember?”

A list, for Gustavo’s benefit.

Lalo pulled off. “Of course I remember.”

The list, confirmed.

Lalo gave him a long look. “You are awfully chatty tonight.” He grinned. “I like it! Keep talking…” He took Varga’s cock in his mouth again.

Varga obliged him with pornographic babble, the same as one might hear from any whore. Gustavo could have turned it off then. He had the confirmation of Varga’s account. He had learned something very interesting and potentially useful about his enemy—Varga meant more to Lalo than a convenient receptacle for his sexual urges. He also had observed his spy in action—Varga’s skill at deceit was even greater than he’d thought, which offered both dangers and opportunities. It was doubtful he would glean anything else.

But Gustavo didn’t stop watching. It was not in his nature to look away.

Lalo’s head moved faster. Sloppy, wet sounds mingled with Varga’s profane monologue. Varga writhed, his muscles rippling, as his words lost coherence, dissolving into sighs and moans.

But just when Gustavo thought orgasm would overtake him, Varga pulled at Lalo’s shoulders. “Not yet—want you to fuck me.”

Lalo was beside him in an instant, capturing his mouth in a kiss. “Anything you want, _mi amor._ ”

After a few more kisses, Lalo retrieved a condom and a tube from the bedside table. He slicked his fingers and moved them between Varga’s legs. His back arched as he spread his legs wider. Varga murmured how good it felt, how hard he was, how he couldn’t wait for him to be inside. Lalo replied in kind, telling him again how handsome he was, how much he wanted him.

Gustavo shifted in his seat.

Lalo rolled on the condom and moved over Varga. Gustavo sucked in a breath as Varga was breached. Varga went rigid, but then that tension melted like butter, his mouth dropping open in a perfect oh as his eyes fluttered shut. More endearments from Lalo as he pushed in further. He bottomed out at last and rubbed Varga’s thighs in slow circles, laying a kiss on one knee.

Out, and then in again. Out, and then in. A rhythm was set, accompanied by a melody of sighs and moans. Gustavo’s own breathing synced with that rhythm, quite outside his control, but he remained perfectly still as he continued to observe.

Varga pushed Lalo off and flipped their positions. Now Lalo was prone on his back.

“Hold on a sec.” Varga reached under the bed and pulled out a box. “I want to try something.”

Lalo took the box from him and opened it. He laughed and pulled out a pair of padded handcuffs. “Bondage? Oh _amorcito_ , if I had known you were interested, I could have brought much more interesting toys.”

“I’m not ready for the full pervert experience. Just wanted to try something a little different. Please?”

“For you, anything.” Lalo kissed him and held up the cuffs again. “So these for you, or for me?”

“You.” His voice lowered. “I want to see you helpless.”

Lalo let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a moan. “I am always helpless when it comes to you. So, what, you want to handcuff me to the headboard?”

Varga nodded. “Blindfold, too. And a gag.”

“A gag? Why?”

“To shut you up for a few minutes so that you have to listen to me.”

Lalo roared with laughter. He held his hands up to the headboard. “Do it, _mi rei_.”

No hesitation. His trust in Varga was total. Gustavo supposed that was the point—to illustrate how well he had followed Gustavo’s command.

Varga secured the cuffs. He pulled two bandanas from the box, using one as a blindfold and the other as a gag. When they were secure, Varga climbed onto him. He held Lalo’s cock steady as he lowered himself onto it, tension rippling through him as he was breached again. His eyes fluttered as he seated himself—

—and then they opened, looking directly into the camera.

Gustavo startled. It felt like he was there, looking into his eyes. The image of Varga held his gaze for a long moment. “You feel so good,” he said, his gaze not wavering. He took his cock in his hand and stroked it. “I want you so much.”

Lalo let out some muffled reply. Varga tweaked one of Lalo’s nipple. “No talking.”

Muffled laughter this time, and then obedience.

Varga put one hand on Lalo’s chest to steady himself. Slowly, he started to ride him. “I imagine this every time I’m with you,” he said, still looking into the camera. “You, penetrating me. You, inside me. I think you think about it, too.” 

Gustavo didn’t look away. He wasn’t sure he could have if he had tried. The image of Varga held him like some kind of dark magic.

Varga pinched his own nipple and moaned. “Do you dream of me chained to your bed and at your mercy? You can do anything to me—I can’t stop you. Does that make you hard?”

Gustavo’s hands clenched into fists. His whole body shook.

“I’d fight you first. You’d like that—seeing me struggle.” Varga sped up, riding Lalo harder. “Would you gag me, or would you want to hear my screams?”

Lalo moaned too, but the sound was muffled. It was almost as if he wasn’t there.

At last, Varga’s eyes closed as he chased his orgasm, fucking himself on Lalo’s cock as he stroked himself. His movements became frenzied, and then he came with a scream.

He went slack. Lalo’s hips thrust upward into him until he, too, came. They both took a moment to catch their breath. Finally, Varga eased off of him. He looked into the camera one last time, and blew a kiss.

Gustavo barely registered the rest of the scene—Varga releasing Lalo, Lalo’s rumbling laugh as he teased his amorcito about his wild imagination. Kisses followed, sweet and gentle. They curled up together.

After a while, Lalo got up to take a shower. The door shut, and the water ran. Varga approached the camera. His face took up the entire screen. His lip curled into a sneer, his eyes radiating disgust. He reached out—

—and the screen went blank.

Gustavo’s whole body was so rigid he couldn’t move, as if Varga’s gaze had turned him to stone. With deliberate effort, he made his muscles relax. But one part of his body remained stubbornly stiff.

He took care of it in the shower—quick and clinical, as usual. He tried to keep his mind blank.

He was unsuccessful.

Afterward, he removed the tape and took it to the patio. He got a hammer to destroy it, but just when he was about to bring it down, some invisible force stayed his hand—some new demon that had come now to haunt him. As if he didn’t have enough of those.

The tape went into the safe he kept in his closet, locked carefully away. It could be useful blackmail. He wouldn’t look at it again—

—no, that wasn’t true. He detested lies, even to himself.

But he would exorcise this demon, one way or the other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said the wrong timeline in the other chapter. This takes place mostly between "Fire Bug" and "Keep It in the Family," with the exception of the last scene, which takes place the day after Nacho and Lalo leave for Mexico. (So, after Chapter 3 of "Reign in Hell".)
> 
> If you're coming into this series later...sorry this timeline is a little confusing!
> 
> Also - Gus's fantasies in this chapter get pretty disturbing so heads up.

There had been no one after Max.

There would never be anyone after Max. That was all right. The love he and Max had shared was enough to last for several lifetimes. Most people would never feel even a fraction of their passion, and he pitied them. He would never welcome another love into his life.

And he had no desire to poison the memory of his perfect love with tawdry affairs, either. He despised decadence. It was foolish and weak, the poisoned wine drunk by powerful men that led them to ruin. While they indulged themselves into oblivion, Gustavo maintained perfect control. Their empires would fall into decay. Not his though—never his. He had no vices to exploit, no desires to drive him to distraction. He was different from them.

And so he had turned off his desire. After Max’s demise, it wasn’t hard to do. His body still functioned, and he would take care of it in the same way he used the bathroom. But that was all.

It had worked fine. Until Varga.

His concentration was shot. He couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his mind from returning to the image of Varga, naked, a cock in his ass, stroking himself as his eyes burned with insolence. His vulgar talk played on a loop in his thoughts, crowding out everything else.

When several days of attempting to crush the thoughts into oblivion failed, he decided to try to purge. He watched the tape over and over, hoping that the repetition would numb him. That only made it worse. True, his mind grew bored with the scene, but it began to make up new scenarios to take its place—of what he might do to Varga.

He imagined that night again, when he had made Varga his. He could see it as clearly as if it were now—Varga on his knees. He’d been so pretty like that—all of his strength sapped by fear. But he hadn’t broken down. No, he had trembled, but he bore it beautifully. Gustavo had admired it at the time. It even—yes, he could admit it now—aroused him.

Now, weeks later, he dreamed of what he could have done. He could have ordered him into his car and taken him home. He could have strapped a collar around his neck and taught him to heel. He could have had him on all fours, fucking him like the dog he was. He could have put his lying mouth to better use. He could have made him cry those tears that had been left unshed as he watched his associate suffocate. He could have put a hood over his head while he whispered that he could do the same to him if Varga didn’t do exactly as he was told.

He could have made him beg. He imagined it would be quite difficult. It might take days. He couldn’t keep him in the house. He’d take him to the lab, chain him up there. Soundproof. His screams would be for Gustavo alone.

These thoughts haunted him. He gave up trying to repress them and gave into them, touching himself, sometimes several times a night. His body vomited years of pent-up desire. Surely he’d purge it, gain control of it again. But it only seemed to grow worse.

It was suffocating him.

***

Gustavo summoned Varga for a meeting. He didn’t know what he wanted to get out of him—he just needed to see his demon in the flesh. Make him real instead of some phantom that haunted him.

The meeting place was the electrical plant again. Gustavo made sure he arrived first. Varga pulled up in his Javelin and parked. In spite of the chill of the night, he wore only a red tank top. His jeans hung off his hips—the smallest of tugs would send them to the ground.

Varga leaned back against the car, his pelvis tipped ever so slightly in Gustavo’s direction. He looked around and raised one eyebrow—an unspoken question. _You came alone?_

Gustavo ignored it. “What do you have to report?”

“Not much. Lalo has been a little distracted lately.” He reached into his car through the open window and pulled something out. “I have my full report here.” He held it out but did not move towards him.

A tape? Gustavo sucked in a breath. “Bring it here.”

He sauntered over to him. When he handed him the tape, their fingers brushed—not an accident. Gustavo inhaled—he wore cologne, expensive and subtle, with notes of sandalwood and musk.

Varga dropped his hand. “Are you done with me?” Was that a dare in his dark eyes?

If so, he wouldn’t take it. “For now.”

Varga shrugged and returned to his car.

When Gustavo got home, he put the tape by the television. He made himself cook dinner—coq au vin. It took two hours to prepare. He ate slowly, to prove he still had control. Only when the dishes were cleaned and put away did he allow himself to put the video in. He settled back into the seat and pressed play.

A basement, bare. In the center was a hook with manacles hanging from it. On the ground was a large chest. A great deal more sophisticated than handcuffs and bandanas. Lalo had mentioned that he had other ‘toys’ – were these his?

He pressed fast-forward until Varga and Lalo entered the frame. Lalo whistled when he saw the set-up. “You sure you ready for this, Nachito?”

Not his, then—Varga’s. And they were new. Had he bought them with Gustavo in mind? The thought made his pulse pound.

“Yeah, I’m ready. How about you?”

Lalo drew him into his arms and kissed him. “I will gladly fulfill any fantasy you desire.”

“Even if it’s weird?”

“Especially if it’s weird.” He kissed him again. “ _Dios mío_ , I love the way your sick mind works. No one comes up with games the way you do.”

“Then let’s start playing.” Varga’s voice was thick with dark promises. Gustavo’s cock stirred.

Gustavo expected Varga to strip, but he didn’t. He wore a red tank top—in fact, it was the same outfit he’d worn to their latest meeting. He held his hands up and allowed Lalo to cuff him. The position perfectly displayed his muscular torso.

“So let’s go over this one more time,” Lalo said.

“I’m down on my luck,” Nacho said. “I’ve done some terrible things just to survive. My desperation has led me to the streets—”

“—where I, a businessman, find you,” Lalo finished for him. “I offer you money. You have to take it—you don’t have a choice. And then I bring you back here to my home.” He grinned wolfishly. “But little did you know how depraved I truly am.”

“And now I’m at your mercy,” Nacho said. “I try to fight you—”

“—but I have my wicked way with you anyway.” He laughed. “This is going to be fun! Tell me your safe word again.”

Varga shot a glance at the camera before answering. “ _Pollos_.”

 _Pollos._ The nerve of him!

“I’ll go get changed,” Lalo said. “Although really, _amorcito_ , this costume you picked out for me is so bland. You could have at least let me wear one of my nice suits to be your sexy businessman.”

A costume? Gustavo sat up straighter—was he making Lalo dress up as—

“Your suits are too flashy to be a respectable businessman,” Varga said. “Besides, depending on how this night goes, you might want something you can throw away."

Lalo laughed. “Good point.” One more kiss and he went up the stairs.

Once he was gone, Varga looked up into the camera, meeting Gustavo’s gaze. Or not meeting it, since this scene took place days before. It was like looking into the eyes of a ghost, and he couldn’t look away. Just when the eeriness became overbearing, Varga shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. His body was displayed to perfection in this position, and he looked so vulnerable chained… Gustavo took a few steadying breaths himself while they waited for Lalo to return.

The creak of a door, which slammed shut. Varga’s body tensed as if he really were frightened. Slow, heavy steps thudded down the steps.

Lalo stepped into view. He wore a long-sleeve yellow button-down shirt and a blue tie. His pants were khakis, with a brown belt around his waist. _Jesucristo_ , he was even wearing glasses that looked just like his! How had Lalo not noticed this? Then again, if Gustavo had Varga at his disposal every day, maybe he would start to miss things. Gustavo didn’t even have him and he was already driven to distraction.

As soon as Varga caught sight of him, he lunged forward as far as his chains would allow. “You son of bitch!” he screamed, practically frothing in rage. “I’ll kill you—”

“You are not in a place to be making threats,” Lalo said, his usual joviality absent.

Varga pulled at his restraints again, so hard it must have hurt his wrists. “Yeah, well, you better hope these hold. When I escape, I’ll rip you to shreds!”

“But you won’t escape.” Lalo smirked. “Those chains aren’t the only thing that bind you. Isn’t that right?”

All at once, the fight left him, and he sagged. “Fuck you.” The despair in his voice was equal to the anger.

Lalo tutted. “All that anger directed at me—and yet you’re the one who put yourself in this position.”

“I was desperate.” He sneered. “Lucky for you. You couldn’t have me otherwise.”

“Do you really think it’s wise to provoke me?”

“If I beg, will things go any differently?”

Lalo snorted. “Probably not. Now, shall we begin?”

Varga struggled again, but it was halfhearted. Gustavo held his breath as Lalo opened the chest. He drew out…a pair of shears?

Lalo approached Varga, opening and closing the shears lazily. Varga flinched as Lalo ran the metal over his skin, lightly scratching him, before finally taking Varga’s shirt in hand and cutting it from his body. The fabric fell in pieces at their feet. Varga shook as Lalo ran a hand over his newly bared skin. He undid his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, exposing his cock and ass. Lalo caressed his hip—

—and there it was. The pucker of the scar, where Victor’s bullet had penetrated him. Gustavo wiped the sweat from his brow.

Lalo pressed the shears against his nipple before returning them to the chest. Next came a whip—not as big as Gustavo would have liked it. Lalo cracked it in the air. At the sound, Varga started to struggle again, twisting fruitlessly in his bonds.

Lalo ran the whip through his hand. “How many lashes do you think it will take before I make you scream, hm?”

“I will never scream for you,” Varga spat.

Lalo chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

The whip cracked against Varga’s back. He sucked in a breath through his teeth but didn’t cry out. Lalo hit him again, and again. Varga jerked with the impact of each hit, but the marks on his back were light. Lalo was skilled in this—a big, dramatic show, but it was still just play.

Gustavo wouldn’t play with him. He’d beat him bloody. He could practically feel the whip in his hand.

At the tenth lash, Varga finally let out a cry—not a scream, but a moan. Gustavo had been concentrating so much on the whip that he’d missed Varga’s growing arousal. Lalo noticed it, too. He tossed the whip aside and took Varga’s cock in his hand.

“Not the only sick one here, am I?” Lalo purred.

Varga spat in his face. It seemed to take Lalo by surprise; he staggered back a step. He took off his glasses and cleaned the spittle from them and his face. When he was finished, he reared a hand back and slapped him across the face—a real blow this time that made Varga’s head snap.

Lalo yanked his jeans and underwear all the way off, leaving Varga completely exposed. He slapped his ass three, four times—the imprint of his hand lingered on his heated skin. Lalo grabbed the chain that held the manacles aloft. “I’m going to release you now. You give me any trouble, I’ll make you regret it.”

Varga didn’t answer, but his chest was heaving.

Lalo undid the manacles and put a hand on Varga’s shoulder. “On your knees.”

Shakily, Varga complied. His knees were spread wide, his hands held up—just like on the night that Varga became his.

And Lalo, dressed in Gustavo’s clothes, stood above him. “From now on,” he said. “You are mine.”

Gustavo’s chest heaved. His cock strained against the fabric of his pants. A thousand desires screamed in him—which one would Lalo choose to realize? Lalo started to undo his fly—

“ _Pollos_ ,” Varga gasped.

Gustavo nearly cried out. Varga was _stopping_ it?

Lalo immediately got to the floor. “You okay, _amorcito_?” he asked, all of his coldness melted away.

Varga nodded shakily. “Just got intense. But I’m in control here.” His gaze flickered upward before returning to Lalo.

Lalo rubbed his shoulders. “Are you cold?” When Varga nodded, he went the chest again and pulled out a blue blanket. He draped it over Varga’s shoulder and then pulled him into his arms. Varga sighed and relaxed into the embrace as Lalo rocked him. 

Gustavo’s fists clenched so tightly that his nails cut crescents into his skin. He couldn’t leave it there!

Varga tilted his head for a kiss, which Lalo obliged. “Let me take you upstairs, _mi amor_ ,” Lalo murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I want you now,” he said, kissing him harder. “Right here.”

Their embrace grew increasingly heated. “Wait—” Varga said. He went to the trunk and returned with the shears. After getting on his knees again, he wrapped a hand around Lalo’s tie and pulled him into a kiss. When they parted, Varga used the shears to cut the tie off.

Lalo let out a surprised laugh. “Is this what you meant by wanting disposable clothes?”

Varga snipped the shears at him playfully. Lalo laughed and opened his arms. “Please, put this shirt out of its misery.”

Varga grabbed his glasses first and threw them clattering to the ground. Then he started on the shirt—a shirt exactly like so many that hung in Gustavo’s closet. Soon it was no more than rags. When Lalo was bare-chested at last, Varga put the shears aside and wrapped his arms around him. “Lalo,” he breathed. “I want your mouth.”

Lalo responded with a pleased growl. “ _Si, mi rey_.” He kissed Varga’s lips once more before moving downward.

Varga ran his hands through Lalo’s hair as Lalo took him in his mouth. “Lalo,” he moaned. He looked up at the camera. His eyes sparked like a lit match, and his mocking smile fueled it like gasoline. “ _Lalo, mi amor_ ,” he moaned again, louder. “Only you make me feel this way…”

Gustavo _burned_. Twin fires of anger and lust ignited inside him. He shut off the tape and sucked in breaths, trying to blow them out. But oxygen only added fuel to flames, didn’t it? He didn’t lose control—he never lost control—

But that what Varga wanted, wasn’t it? It was a dangerous gambit. Gustavo had his father’s life in his hands. And a word from him about the truth of Hector’s stroke, and Lalo Salamanca would turn on his _amorcito_ like an angry tiger.

But Varga knew his value as a spy meant Gustavo would be reluctant to pull either of those triggers, and so he had some space to maneuver. Clearly, he hoped to rattle him—to make him lose control and start making mistakes he could exploit.

That knowledge, however, did nothing to extinguish the flames inside him.

***

Gustavo destroyed the tapes. Varga was a temporary madness that would pass, but only if he snuffed out every last ember of his fire. He kept a thin rod in his office and would hit himself—on his thigh, his back, the soles of his feet—whenever Varga’s phantom floated into his mind. He would control this. He _would_.

Two weeks went by. It was no better.

He needed a new plan—to use his spy for his intended purpose, to hurt the Salamancas, Hector most of all. He would send one of his men to get pictures of Varga and Lalo together—they were shockingly indiscrete. And then he would take those pictures to Casa Tranquila and show them to Don Hector. Oh how his heart would break when he realized that his own nephew was a degenerate, just like Gustavo! The thought of it made his heart sing. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? To a bigot like Hector, it might even be worse than if Lalo died.

Yes. It was a good start.

Tyrus got him the pictures. He tried not to study them too closely, but it was useless. Seeing Varga in Lalo’s embrace ignited him again, lips parted as Lalo slipped a hand into his pants behind El Michoacáno – in broad daylight, no less! Varga and Lalo in the backseat of his Javelin like horny teenagers. Varga and Lalo, sharing a kiss outside Varga’s home as they came in for the night.

Lalo, born into cartel royalty, flaunting the rules that would get other men in the cartel ostracized or killed, never knowing a day of hunger in his life, feasting now on what Gustavo did not have—

Gustavo had been right before—he needed to purge Varga from his system. But fantasies weren’t going to do it.

A weekend. That’s all he needed. He’d tell Varga he had an errand for him, have him make excuses to Lalo. Then he’d tell Varga to meet him at one of their places—the transformer station, maybe. And he, Tyrus, and Victor would be waiting for him. They’d cuff his hands behind his back, blindfold him, and shove him into Gustavo’s trunk. Gustavo would get his basement ready—he’d been doing research. He went to a store, where a helpful clerk walked him through what he would need. Whips, cuffs, a gag, a hood, a leash. He couldn’t choose between collars, so he bought two—one studded leather, one a chain.

And lastly, a St. Andrew’s cross. He liked the name. He could already see his St. Ignacio splayed spread-eagle upon it, struggling against his restraints, trying desperately to get away, but he’d be trapped, trapped…

They’d have to think of some story as to why he was so battered when Gustavo returned him to Lalo, broken and used. And then Varga would be as haunted by Gustavo as Gustavo was by him.

After setting up his dungeon, he got his first good night’s sleep in weeks.

****

But the plan went awry.

“What do you mean, you’re in Mexico?” he hissed into the phone.

“I’m sorry—he didn’t give me any warning,” Varga said. “Said he wanted me to meet the higher-ups in the cartel. Looks like I’m being promoted.”

Gustavo said nothing. There was no good reason for him to order his return—it would raise Lalo’s suspicions. “When will you be back.”

“Not sure. I don’t think my cell reception is going to be any good.” A pause. “I’ve got to go.” His voice lowered. “I had a report sent to your restaurant.”

Gustavo’s heart thudded. Another tape? He was about to ask, but Varga had already hung up.

He drove to the restaurant. Sure enough, there was a box on his desk, delivered by courier. Lyle had signed for it.

It was still the afternoon, but he went home early. He didn’t hesitate this time—he put the tape right in the player.

It was just Varga, sitting in a chair, the camera dead-on, as if he and Gustavo were sitting across from one another. He was wearing only a tight tank top and a pair of jeans…and a collar. It was black and studded with silver. Instantly, Gustavo was hard.

Gustavo’s eyes met Varga’s not-gaze. He didn’t move for a long moment. Then he ran a hand over his body, starting with his chest and moving down to the waistband of his jeans, then back up again. He tilted his hips forward as he slouched a little, and splayed his hand over the collar.

“Gustavo,” he moaned. He caressed his chest again, pausing to worry a nipple. His hand moved down. He cupped himself through his jeans and rocked into his hand, little sounds of pleasure escaping his lips—

—and then he stopped. He straightened, all his sensuality turned off as if he’d flipped a switch.

He leaned forward, a smirk playing across his lips. “Adiós, Gustavo,” he said. He reached forward. The tape went blank.

Gustavo sat in stunned silence. Slowly, he picked up his phone and dialed Tyus. “I want you to check on Varga’s father,” he said.

An hour later, Tyrus called back. “He’s disappeared.” When Gustavo didn’t reply, he added, “Sir?”

“I see,” Gustavo said, keeping his voice even.

“Do you want us to try to find him?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Papa Varga was no doubt far away by now.

All his life, Gustavo had prided himself on his patience. Good thing come to those who wait, he had always told himself. For the most part, that was true.

But this time, it seemed that he had he waited too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Gustavo's head is a way scarier place to be than Lalo's. 😱
> 
> And now it's back to Reign in Hell, where Nacho continues to reclaim his power!


End file.
